


fatherisms

by Anonymous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Dean Winchester is Claire Novak's Parent, Domestic Fluff, Episode: s06e20 The Man Who Would Be King, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Mark of Cain (Supernatural), Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 05, Season/Series 04, Season/Series 06, Season/Series 09, Season/Series 10, Season/Series 12, Season/Series 13, Toddler Jack Kline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-21 21:07:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 7,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30027852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “I learned my lesson while I was away, Dean,” Cas says. “I serve heaven, I don’t serve man, and I certainly don’t serve you.” He rotates, freeing his sleeve from Dean’s hand, and walks away.Dean stares after him. Sam, somewhere behind him, says nothing.The silence breaks with a baby’s wail, and Dean whirls around, eyes finding the baby, still in her carseat, a pair of dead demons next to her, including the one that had been inside the baby’s mother.(AU where Claire Novak was a baby when her father got taken as Castiel's vessel; told in snapshots)
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Claire Novak & Dean Winchester
Comments: 75
Kudos: 280
Collections: Anonymous





	1. season four

**Author's Note:**

> hii so i made a tumblr post about this concept & then wrote a couple thingies & posted them on tumblr but then i figured i'd just throw them here and so if i wanted to write more i could just add new chapters instead of adding onto that same post. whatever. the post is here, if you wanna reblog it:
> 
> https://deanspurpleflannel.tumblr.com/post/645591403487019008/deanspurpleflannel-deanspurpleflannel 
> 
> each chapter is stand-alone, although in the same universe, and i'm going to title the chapters as seasons just so you know roughly when it takes place :)

In a warehouse, the bodies of demons strewn around, Sam’s mouth covered in blood, Dean takes three steps forward, reaches for Castiel–back in Jimmy–’s sleeve. **  
**

“Hey, Cas, hold up,” Dean says. Cas stops walking, even though Dean is sure that his human grip on an angel sleeve is akin to a fly latching onto an elephant. “What were you gonna tell me?”

Cas’s face is blank, almost scarily so. He raises an eyebrow. Dean’s heart sinks. 

“I learned my lesson while I was away, Dean,” Cas says. “I serve heaven, I don’t serve man, and I certainly don’t serve you.” He rotates, freeing his sleeve from Dean’s hand, and walks away. 

Dean stares after him. Sam, somewhere behind him, says nothing.

The silence breaks with a baby’s wail, and Dean whirls around, eyes finding the baby, still in her carseat, a pair of dead demons next to her, including the one that had been inside the baby’s mother. 

“Shit,” Dean breathes, and he runs across the room and falls to his knees, unbuckling her and lifting her up, holding her close and humming soothing noises under his breath. 

“Dean,” Sam says, reaching out, and Dean holds the baby tighter, leans away from him. 

“Don’t touch her,” he snaps, and Sam’s eyes are wide and hurt, but his mouth is still smeared with demon blood. He wilts, and Dean turns his attention back to the baby.

She’s wearing a little pink t-shirt, and yellow shorts. Her blonde hair is piled into a tiny fountain at the top of her head, and if Dean had to guess he’d say she’s over a year old, but not quite two yet. Her hands pummel his jacket, untrusting. Dean’s heart clenches, and he wonders what kind of asshole Jimmy Novak was, ditching his wife with an infant. 

(He’s grateful to have Cas, of course he is, but–)

Sam cleans up the bodies of the demons, taking them outside, or something, and Dean convinces the baby in his arms to trust him, and she sags against him, tired of crying. He stands, holding her with one hand and picking up her carseat with the other. He puts it in the impala, then breaks into the car they’d stolen for Amelia earlier and retrieves the baby’s diaper bag. He slings it over one shoulder and remembers when he was little, when the diaper bag was almost bigger than he was, and he almost laughs. 

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” he asks the baby in his arms, and she blinks at him, eyes wide. He repeats the question. 

“Caire,” she says, and he smiles at her. 

“Okay, Claire,” he says. She smiles back, showing off her little baby teeth, and he digs his phone out of his pocket to call Bobby. 

He tells him to call Sam in a few hours, and tell them that they’re needed at his house. He tells Bobby about the demon blood, and how they need him to stop. 

He does not tell Bobby about the baby, and several hours later, Sam yelling himself hoarse in the panic room, and Bobby and Dean watching Claire toddle around Bobby’s living room, Dean isn’t really sure why. 

“What are you gonna do with her?” Bobby asks, and Dean watches her stumble, fall on her butt, and look around, vaguely surprised. 

“I don’t know,” he says. It’s the Apocalypse. What is he supposed to do with a baby? “I don’t know.”


	2. season thirteen

“Hey, Dad,” Claire says. Dean is sitting in the library, computer open to a newspaper article that might be a lead-in for a new case. Claire is behind him, squished between the chair and his back. That’s what she gets for climbing on him as he’s sitting down. **  
**

“Yeah, Claire-Bear?” he says absently, scrolling through the article.

“How come Jack gets to go on cases and I can’t?”

“Jack’s older than you,” Dean says. 

“I’m _ten years_ older than him,” Claire says, extracting her hand to poke him in the cheek. “That’s older than you are to Uncle Sam.”

“Jack has powers,” Dean says. “He won’t get hurt if he goes on a case.”

“Jack is five months old,” Claire says. “That’s a _baby_. He’s a _baby_. I was older than that when you adopted me.”

Dean pauses. That’s…a weird thought. A very weird thought. 

“You still can’t go on cases,” Dean says. “And don’t call Jack a baby.”

“I don’t think he’d be offended,” Claire grumbles, and she sinks down into the seat, pressing her cheek against Dean’s back. 

“I told you–when you’re eighteen, if you want to go on cases, you can join us,” Dean says. “It’s just different with Jack.”

Claire groans. 

“Favoritism,” she says. “You’ve known him for _five months_ and you like him better than me.”

“Woah,” Dean says, putting his computer aside and turning around to look at her properly. “First of all, Jack isn’t even _my_ kid, okay, he’s _Cas’s_ kid. _You’re_ my kid. Cas can do whatever he wants with his parenting. Second of all, I don’t like _anyone_ more than I like you.”

Claire snorts. 

“Yeah, _okay_ ,” she says. “Not even _Caaaas_?”

Dean does _not_ like the sing-songy sound of her voice, and he frowns at her. She grins, unperturbed. He decides that’s grounds for a noogieing, so he extracts her from her spot between his back and the chair and proceeds to thoroughly mess up her blonde hair. She shrieks and laughs and when Dean looks up, Cas is in the room, smiling at him, so softly. 

Dean feels his cheeks heat and he looks back down at Claire on his lap. She’s still laughing, but she’s looking at him evilly, and Dean regrets ever introducing her to Charlie. He leans back. 

“Don’t you have homework to do?” he asks her, and she sticks her tongue out at him before rolling off his lap, landing on her feet. As she leaves the library, she lunges to attack Cas with a hug. He lifts her up, like he always does, and then lets her scamper away. 

(While Cas was dead–Claire had been devastated. She hugs him all the time now, and Dean thinks Cas was surprised, at first. Dean’s more surprised than anything–surprised Cas doesn’t know that Claire thinks of Cas as her other dad.) 

Cas turns back to him. 

“You’re a good father,” he says, smiling, and Dean rolls his eyes. 

“Whatever,” he says, because Cas says that all the time, as if Dean needs reassuring. Which, okay, maybe he does, sometimes, but. Dean clears his throat. “You are too.”

Cas smiles at him. 

“Did you find a case?” he asks, and Dean turns back to his laptop.

“Yeah, I think so,” he says, opening it back up, and tilting it so Cas can see. “There were some suspicious deaths….”


	3. post-canon

Before they moved into the bunker, Claire almost always slept in the bed with Dean. He would curl around her, framing her small body with his own, and keep her safe. After they moved into the bunker, she still sometimes crept into his room in the middle of the night, and Dean always let her, even when she got older. He knows that when he was a kid, he _never_ could’ve gotten away with seeking that kind of comfort from his dad, and he knows he never wants Claire to feel like that. So sometimes, if she has nightmares, she seeks him out. Dean usually has nightmares of his own, but something about her being there helps, sometimes, so he doesn’t mind. He really doesn’t, but it’s not something he and Claire ever talk about with the other residents of the bunker. **  
**

Three months after the end of everything, Dean wakes up to a tiny hand poking his face. He squints at the tiny shape before him and recognizes Jack. 

“What’s up, buddy?” he asks, and Jack looks at him with watery eyes. 

“I can’t sleep,” he says, and there’s not actually a lot of room in Dean’s bed, but he smiles at the little boy anyway. 

“Give me a second,” he says, and he rolls over inside the loose prison of the arm around his waist, and does some poking of his own. 

“What?” Cas grunts, bleary, and Dean is helpless against Cas’s squinty look. He smiles at him. 

“Jack can’t sleep,” he says, and Cas leans up and looks over Dean, looking at the kid. 

(Three months ago, Jack looked like he was in his early twenties, and three months ago, Jack was God. Now, Jack looks like the three year old he is, and apparently he can’t sleep. The working theory is that he has the memory of a three year old, so he remembers recent things, but hopefully has forgotten the things from the first year of his life–the Apocalypse world, for one. But if he remembers recent things, he remembers the fight against Chuck, and he remembers Cas being gone, and he remembers being God. That’s a lot, for anyone, let alone a three year old.)

“Could he sleep with us?” Cas asks, tentative, and Dean smiles at him, then turns to look at Jack. 

“‘Course he can,” he says, and he reaches out a hand to help pull Jack onto the bed. There’s a little bit of shifting, careful not to kick Miracle, curled on top of Cas’s feet at the bottom of the bed, but Jack settles between them, his body curled up and his tiny hand wrapped around one of Cas’s fingers. 

Cas runs a careful hand through Jack’s hair, and Dean feels overwhelmed with the love he never thought he’d get to face. It doesn’t take long for Jack to drop off into sleep, and for Cas to follow. Dean, though, is captivated by the space he and Cas created between them for Jack to sleep in, and he alternates watching Cas’s face and watching Jack’s. 

Dean’s somewhere on the border of sleep when he hears the door creak, and suddenly he’s wide awake. He doesn’t move the arm that’s slung over Jack, resting on Cas’s ribs, but he does crane his neck to see a familiar shape silhouetted in the doorway. Dean relaxes in increments, and Claire turns to leave. 

“Where are you going?” Dean asks, voice loud enough that she will hear but quiet enough for Jack and Cas to slumber on.

“There’s not any space,” Claire says. Her voice is flat, like she’s stating a fact, but Dean knows his daughter and he reaches out his free hand, stretching towards her.

“There’s plenty,” Dean says. “Come here.”

She leaves the doorway and shuts the door carefully behind her, padding to Dean’s side of the bed. He carefully extracts his arm from Cas and rolls over, making as little movement as possible, sending a quick thanks to God, or whoever, that he has memory foam. Dean pats the space beside Jack, and Claire bites her lip before climbing over Dean, kneeing him in the chest in the process. He’s careful to muffle the wince, and she settles against Jack–her little brother. Dean rolls back onto his side, pulling up the blankets, and he tucks Claire against him, and returns his arm across the kids and onto Cas’s t-shirt. 

“See?” Dean says. “Plenty of room.” It’s only partially true–his ass is about to fall off the bed–but he doesn’t care. He’ll just get a bigger bed, big enough for an ex-angel, an ex-god-current-toddler, a dog, a daughter, and a guy who wants them all to be there. 

Jack shifts in his sleep. Claire exhales quietly. Dean uses the hand lodged under his pillow to extract blonde hairs from his mouth. Miracle snores. Cas opens his eyes, processes the new addition to the bed, and smiles.


	4. post-season five

Dean intends to go to Lisa’s house like Sam asked him to, he really does, but three months after Sam’s death Dean finds himself pushing a cart in a grocery store, a blonde three-year-old up on the little seat. She’s holding a box of Cheerios like they’re something precious, and Dean throws four different kinds of pasta into the cart. 

When he checks out and goes outside, he gets into a sensible car and buckles Claire into the backseat. He puts the groceries in the trunk and lets the radio play old lady music, because Ann can never find her channel if Dean switches it to something that plays classic rock. 

Ann Novak lives in a one-story house with a dying garden out front. She told Dean that before she got diagnosed with cancer, she would garden all day. Dean tries to water the plants, but besides that he doesn’t know what to do with them. Ann pats his cheek and tells him he’s doing alright, and he tries to smile at her. 

(The yawning hole in his chest lessons, sometimes, when Claire climbs into his lap, or when he makes her laugh, or when she ran around the house chanting “Zepp-lin, zepp-lin, zepp-lin”. Sometimes when Ann smiles at him and the time she told the hospital that Dean was her boy, Dean feels like he can breathe.)

Dean parks the car in the driveway, because the impala is in the garage, and he gets out, unbuckles Claire and lets her run to the front door. He takes the grocery bags in his hands, carries them all, and follows her inside. 

When he finishes unloading the groceries, he finds Ann and Claire in the family room, Ann with a pile of green yarn on her lap and Claire captivated by the lights on the TV. Dean sits on the other side of the couch. 

“What are you making?” he asks. 

“A blanket,” Ann says. “Nothing like a handmade blanket to keep warm in the dead of winter.”

“Right,” Dean says. He has no experience with handmade blankets. “How...how was the appointment?”

Two years ago, Dean was in Hell. He’s killed demons and tortured humans. He’s run around with angels, died and gone to heaven, said no to archangels, and fought Satan. He’s killed angels and loved them, and he lost his baby brother. His best friend ghosted him. Now he lives with an old lady and her granddaughter, and he gets groceries and cleans the house, and he spends most of his time trying to figure out what to get Claire for her birthday in two weeks. 

“They don’t think…” Ann pauses, knitting needles slowing. “They said I probably only have five years, at the most.”

Five years. That’s…

“Ann,” Dean says, unsure of what else to say. He’s not used to this kind of death.

“Dean,” Ann says, and she turns her gaze to him. Her stare has the same effect as Cas’s, like she’s looking right into your soul. “When I go, I want you to take care of Claire.”

“Me?” Dean says, pointing at himself, shocked. “But I’m…”

“But nothing,” Ann says. “You take such good care of her now, and she loves you and you love her, and so you’ll take her.”

“My life is--dangerous,” Dean tries. 

“Didn’t you give all that up?” Ann says, raising her eyebrow. Dean nods, cause….well. He did, didn’t he? Sammy said “apple pie”, and he meant the hot yoga instructor, and her ten year old, and an old lady and a toddler isn’t the same, but. But Dean’s not hunting anymore.

(Except the spirit that was in town, but that was more like a moral obligation, more than anything. And the vampire nest, an hour away, was a matter of convenience. But Dean is  _ retired _ .)

“I trust you,” Ann says. She turns back to her blanket. “I know you’ll take care of her.”

Dean looks at Claire, sitting on the floor. As if sensing the eyes on her, she turns to him, and smiles when she sees him looking at her. She stands, toddling over to him, lifting her arms up. He picks her up, easy, settles her on his lap. 

“Dean,” she says, putting her baby hands on his cheeks. “Dean, Dean, Dean.”

“Claire-bear,” Dean says. She smooshes her face on his chest. He holds her, tight. 

Five years, right? Dean’s raised a kid before. It’d be easier, this time around. In five years, she’ll be seven, or eight, and he can take the kid and the impala, move up to Sioux Falls. Bobby would like having them around. He wonders if Cas would visit. 

It would be good, Dean thinks. He’d give up hunting, and Claire would never have to live like he did, and Bobby would always be there, and it would be good. 

(When Ann finishes the blanket, she presents it to Dean without comment. He holds it and pretends he’s not getting choked up. When he leaves, months later, Sam waiting in the impala’s passenger seat, that blanket is the first thing tucked into Dean’s duffel bag.) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -i was gonna have dean go to lisa's house and just visit ann on weekends but then i thought it would be kind of funny (and kinda sweet) if dean ended up living with this old lady and helping her take care of the baby and so here we are. also, here's some backstory to how he ended up taking care of claire


	5. season twelve

Being alive again is--confusing. Mary can hardly wrap her head around it--thirty years dead, grown sons, dead husband. She never expected--well. Obviously she never expected to die and come back, but she never expected her sons to be hunters, and being faced right off the bat with their secret bunker and angel and missing Sam--it’s a lot. 

After their rescue, and encounter with the British Men of Letters, they retreat back to the bunker, exhausted. Now that the rush of adrenaline is fading, Mary isn’t sure what to do. She keeps getting distracted by how tall Sam is. 

Castiel heals Sam’s injuries, which kind of convinces Mary on the whole angel thing, and Dean gives her a takeout menu to choose her dinner from. She looks over it, glad to see that Chinese food hasn’t changed in the last thirty years, and she’s just decided on beef with broccoli when she hears a door open from somewhere. 

Mary gets up, puts a hand on the gun in her waistband. She feels kind of jumpy and strung out, and she walks into the main room and stops.

Dean is standing at the base of the stairs, arms full of a blonde child. He’s bodily lifted her up, and her legs are crossed around Dean’s waist and her face is buried in her shoulder. She is fully sobbing, and Dean holds her tight.

Sam walks into the room, processes the scene, and then looks up at the bunker doorway, where a young woman with dark hair is standing. 

“Thanks, Alex,” Sam says. Alex dips her head in a nod, waves, and then makes her escape. Mary’s eyes are drawn back to the little girl in Dean’s arms. 

“It’s okay, baby,” Dean murmurs into her hair. “I’m here.”

“You were gonna  _ die,”  _ the girl wails. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“I’m okay, sweetheart,” Dean says. Sam goes to Mary’s shoulder. 

“Who…” Mary says, her mind forming a tentative question that she doesn’t want answered. 

“That’s Claire,” Sam says. “Dean’s, ah, daughter.”

Daughter. Dean has a daughter. Dean, who three days ago was a four-year-old, is a grown man with a daughter. A daughter who, at Mary’s best guess, is eight or nine years old. A daughter. 

Absurdly, Mary says “But he doesn’t have a wedding ring.” 

“She’s adopted,” Sam says. 

“Oh,” Mary says. What--why would Dean adopt a kid and continue hunting? He didn’t seem too keen on being raised a hunter, so why--? Why? Sam sees the look on her face. 

“It’s complicated,” he says. “Claire’s mom was, um, possessed by a demon, and she died.”

“So you knew her parents?” Sam nods. “What about her dad?”

“Ah,” another voice says, and Mary turns to see Castiel. He comes up on her other side, watching Dean soothe Claire--they’re on the ground, now, Dean sitting with his legs crossed and Claire curled in his lap, still crying--with an unreadable expression. “Unfortunately, Claire’s father was possessed by an angel.”

“Oh?” Mary says. “Angels possess people? So wait….are you possessing someone right now?”

Castiel looks embarrassed. Sam leans over. 

“Mom,” he says, then he pauses, like he’s reveling in the word. “Mom, Cas is possessing Claire’s dad.”

“Oh,” Mary says. She looks between her son on the floor and the angel beside her. “What?”

“Jimmy’s soul passed many years ago,” Castiel explains. “Claire’s grandmother died sometime after, and she was left in Dean’s care.”

“Oh,” Mary says again. Then the word  _ grandmother  _ hits her over the head like a ton of bricks. “ _ Oh.  _ Dean has a daughter.”

“Yeah,” Sam says. The three of them look back over to the pile on the floor. Dean stands back up, picking up his daughter, who latches onto him. She’s mostly too big to be carried, but from what Mary’s pieced together--Dean was going to die, had literally said his goodbyes, but then it ended up working out a different way--she understands why Claire would be clingy. Dean walks over to them. 

“Claire,” he says. “This is my mom, Mary.” He winces. “Um, Mom, this is my kid. I guess you’re her grandma, but, um.”

“Hi,” Claire says. She rubs at her red eyes with one hand and sticks the other one out. Mary shakes it, endeared. 

“Hello,” she says. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Claire says. She turns to Cas and makes a  _ come here  _ gesture. Cas bends towards her obediently, and Claire leans in. “I’m glad you aren’t in charge of me,” Claire says in a loud whisper, and Cas smiles. 

“I’m glad your father is still alive, too,” Cas says. Claire grins at him, then tucks herself against Dean, resting her head against his neck. 

  
“Alright, Chinese?” Dean says, and they get back to the topic of dinner. Mary’s glad for the change in subject. Adult sons, the Darkness, God, angels, British secret societies,  _ granddaughters?  _ It’s all too much. Dinner, though? Dinner, she can handle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm trying to keep it in dean's pov for a sense of cohesion, but this bit HAD to be in mary's, you know?


	6. season ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry my update schedule is insane (three chapters in one day!) but these are very short and i keep getting inspired. uhhhh this chapter is kinda heavy, as you can probably assume from the chapter title.

Dean wakes up crying. 

The Mark aches and the dream was so much, too much, and he rolls over and sobs into his pillow, praying Sam won’t wake up, feeling the sing of the blade under his skin, and a hand touches his shoulder, gentle. 

“Dean,” Cas says. 

“Don’t touch me,” Dean snarls, yanking his arm away, throat throbbing and feeling unpeeled, hatred welling up from somewhere deep inside him. 

“Dean,” Cas says again, his eyes wide and  _ blue  _ and he looks  _ so much  _ like her, and Dean shies away from Cas’s hand, still hovering. 

“Go away,” Dean says. He tastes sulfur. 

“I will not,” Cas says. He retracts his hand, stands beside Dean’s motel room bed like a guard. “Dean, I will not leave you.”

“Jesus fucking christ, can’t you leave a man to wallow in his nightmare in peace?” Dean spits, scrubbing a hand over his face. Whenever he closes his eyes he sees red. Blood, spilled on the floor in a great puddle. It might be beautiful. Dean might throw up.

His hand is wet when he pulls it away; for a second Dean thinks it’s blood, but then he remembers the tears on his face. 

He clenches his fist. He wants to go fight something, feel the skin on his knuckles break, the adrenaline rush, blood on his teeth. He thinks, maybe, he could start a fight with Cas, but Cas would probably just throw him through a wall. 

Getting thrown through a wall sounds sort of appealing, but not appealing enough. Dean bites his lip. 

He sees the blood, welling on the floor, the red a contrast to the yellow-blonde hair. 

“Cas,” he says, curling his fist so his fingernails bite into his palm. “Can you promise me something?”

“Of course,” Cas says. Dean pulls his knees up, under the covers. All of a sudden, he wants to curl into a ball. Hiding sounds better than fighting.

“You gotta--” Dean takes a deep breath. “You gotta protect her.”

“Dean,” Cas says. Dean chances a look at him. His head is tilted to the side, confused. “I always protect her.”

“No, you don’t get it,” Dean says. He turns on his knees, grabs Cas’s coat. “You have to protect her from  _ me.” _

“You won’t hurt her,” Cas says. Confident. Dean wonders what’s not clicking--he can see the Mark against his bare arm, angry and red in the darkness. 

“I  _ will,”  _ Dean says. “Can killed--Cain killed his own brother. She’s not safe. Cas, you have to promise me.”

For a minute, Cas says nothing. Dean sees it again, her hair sprayed onto the ground, floating in blood. Dean clenches his fists, shakes Cas. 

“ _ Cas,”  _ he says. “You’ve gotta protect her. I know you want to protect me, but she’s more important. She’s the  _ most  _ important. Promise me, Cas!”

Cas puts his hands over Dean’s. “Of course,” he says. “Of course I’ll protect her. Dean, I’ll always protect her.”

“Promise?” Dean asks, feeling like a child, and Cas meets his gaze, eyes steely and  _ so  _ blue, and he says, “I promise, Dean.”

Dean exhales, collapses against him. Cas lets him, of course he lets him. 

“You’ve had a stressful night,” Cas says, voice a low murmur. “Do you want me to put you to sleep?”

“Will I dream?” Dean asks. He sees the pool of blood, the blonde hair.

“Only pleasant ones,” Cas promises, running his hand through Dean’s hair, and Dean exhales. He nods, and Cas moves his hand from Dean’s hair to his forehead, a gentle touch. Dean falls asleep to Cas laying him down, pulling up the blankets, and he dreams of Claire’s smile, and he remembers Cas’s promise.

  
  



	7. post-canon

Dean sits in the grass under a bright blue sky, and marvels at how beautiful life can be. A butterfly floats past his face, and he watches it, compelled by the purple in it’s wings. Dean doesn’t think he’s ever paid attention to a butterfly before.

A glass materalizes in his line of sight, and Dean takes it. Cas sits beside him, a glass of his own lemonade in his hands. Cas made it himself, and it’s actually pretty good. Dean takes a sip and turns his head.

The kids are a few feet away, running in the grass, Miracle bounding on Claire’s heels. She turns to grab Jack’s chubby little hands, dancing around, half-lifting him at times. Both of them are laughing, Jack’s little boy giggles piercing in the afternoon air, Claire not quite at snorting yet, but getting there. She collapses on the ground, pulling Jack with her, and Miracle comes to lick at her face. She tries to wiggle away, but between the baby and the dog, there is no escape. 

Dean sighs, and turns over to lean on Cas’s shoulder. Never in a million years did he think that he’d find himself here, twelve year old daughter and toddler playing barefoot in the grass above the bunker, with a  _ dog,  _ of all things. Cas tilts his head to rest against Dean’s.

“It’s a nice day,” Cas says.

“The nicest,” Dean says. A gentle breeze wafts by. Dean takes another sip of his lemonade. Jack shrieks with laughter. Dean’s hand finds Cas’s, squeezes. “Did you ever think we’d end up here?”

“No,” Cas says, and Dean grins. “But this is more than I could’ve hoped for.”

“I know what you mean,” Dean says. It looks like Claire’s showing Jack a bug or something. She’s trying to keep it away from Miracle, so Dean whistles, and the dog comes bounding over to him. Dean’s hands are full, one with lemonade and one with Cas’s hand, so he can’t pet her, but she settles next to him anyway, resting her shaggy head on his knee. 

The bug in Claire’s hands flies away, and Claire picks up Jack and comes charging over to Dean and Cas. Dean notes her motion and extracts his hand from Cas’s, shoving the lemonade into Cas’s hands just as Claire crashes into him. He goes down, wrapping his arms around her and Jack with an exaggerated  _ oof  _ noise. 

“Got you!” Jack says gleefully.

“I’ve been defeated!” Dean cries. “Bested! Destroyed! I will never recover.”

“You will have a beautiful funeral,” Claire says dryly, and then she giggle-snorts and Dean pokes her sides. She wiggles off of him, letting go of Jack, and right into Cas’s lap. Dean holds Jack with one arm, and with the other he turns towards her, roaring. She shrieks and scrambles around Cas. 

“Protect me!” she says. 

“Of course,” Cas says, smiling. “The monster and his baby are no match for me.” Jack roars, a tiny sound, and Dean almost laughs, but remembers not to break character.

“Oh yeah?” he says challengingly, getting up into Cas’s space. 

“Yeah,” Cas says. He raises an eyebrow.

“Well, I know your weakness,” Dean says smugly. 

“What’s that?” Cas says, and Dean swoops in, captures his lips in a kiss. 

“Gross!” Claire yells, and Dean lets Jack wiggle out of his arms. Once his arms are free, well--he wraps them around Cas’s neck and pushes him to the ground, never breaking contact. 

“ARGH!” Jack yells, and Dean is sure he’s running at Claire. 

“The baby monster! No!” Claire cries. Dean breaks away from Cas to watch Jack run as fast as his little legs would take him, charging after Claire, who lets him catch her and pull her to the ground. Miracle watches, interested, but doesn’t chase. Dean turns back to his prey.

“That  _ is  _ my weakness,” Cas says breathlessly, and Dean grins at him, puts their foreheads together.

“Yeah,” he says, then he leans down to whisper in Cas’s ear. “But it’s mine, too.”


	8. season nine

For all Dean’s preached the values of decorating, and nesting, and making the bunker their own, he still isn’t used to the relief he feels, walking inside. The motel rooms Dean grew up in were familiar, and a strange kind of comforting, but Dean never really felt  _ safe  _ in them, or if he did, it was a long time ago. But he feels safe in the bunker.

Dean drops his duffel bag on the war table and says, “I’m gonna go find Cas.”

Sam shoots him a glare--maybe not Sam, then, maybe Ezekiel is piloting--but Dean ignores him--them?--and heads to Claire’s bedroom. He pushes open the door, but nothing is in there except an explosion of the stuffed animals that Dean keeps buying for her whenever he leaves the bunker. 

(There’s a cow and a frog in his bag on the table; Dean will bring them to her later)

He goes to Cas’s room, but there’s nothing in there either (bee plushie on the bed, because Dean saw it and couldn’t resist). He checks his own room (a toy squirrel, because Sam is mean), and then heads out to what they’ve been calling the family room, where Dean put couches and a TV. A show Claire likes is playing on the TV, and Dean hears a crash from the direction of the kitchen. 

He walks in there, finding Claire standing on a chair next to the counter, and Cas, mid-catch of a bunch of pots and pans. 

“What’s going on in here?” Dean asks, leaning against the doorway. 

“Daddy!” Claire cries, and she jumps off her chair to run to him. Dean scoops her up, then walks towards Cas and his pots and pans. 

“We were going to cook you guys something,” Cas says, putting the pots on the counter.

“We go on one hunt and suddenly you can cook?” Dean says, teasing. Cas scowls at him. 

“If you follow a recipe it can’t be  _ that _ hard,” Cas says. 

“That’s what you said about the lasagna,” Dean says. Cas groans, and Dean laughs. He turns to Claire, perched on his hip. “So, Claire-bear? Were you good for Cas?”

“Yes!” she says. “The bestest. Cas, I was the bestest, right?”

“Of course you were,” Cas says. 

“Good,” Dean says. “And how was Cas for you?”

“Hey!” Cas says. 

“He was okay,” Claire says, and then she leans up to whisper in his ear. “His spaghetti doesn’t have any sauce.” 

Dean gasps in mock-horror. “No sauce? Come on, Cas, are you feeding my kid naked noodles?”

“I don’t know how to make sauce,” Cas grumbles. “Be glad I fed her at all.”

“ _ So _ glad,” Dean says, and he passes Claire to Cas, then starts putting the pots and pans away. “How about I make dinner, though?”

“That’s probably for the best,” Cas says. Dean eyes him, then smiles. 

“Or maybe we can all do it together,” he says. “That way you can learn.”

“That would be good,” Cas says. “If I’m going to be human I should probably know how to cook.”

He makes a face. Dean turns to him. 

“Dude,” he says. “You could never learn how to cook and I’d still feed you. I’m not gonna kick you out.”

“I know,” Cas says. “But next time you and Sam go on a hunt I still need to feed Claire. And myself.”

“Right,” Dean says. He pauses. “You know...if you want to go on a hunt I could stay behind. Or I could make Sammy stay back. You don’t have to be trapped here.”

Cas smiles at him. Dean’s heart does a backflip.

“I’ll think about it,” he promises. Dean smiles back, then claps his hands and turns around. 

“Right!” he says. “Let’s get cooking.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, crying: dean compulsively buys claire toys because she finally has a place to put them and the bunker is just covered in stuffed animals  
> me, crying more: DEAN BOUGHT CAS A BEE.....  
> me, recovering: sam bought dean a squirrel to make fun of him. dean obviously retaliated by finding a plush moose and throwing it at his head
> 
> in case it was unclear somehow, gadreel was like "kick cas out" and dean was like "no <3" and now cas stays behind and watches claire while dean & sam go on hunts. or maybe sam stays behind while cas & dean go on hunts. whatever. everyone is happy. (except gadreel)


	9. season six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 6x20 THEE man who would be king

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> today i am feeding you, here's 2 chapters posted back-to-back. you're welcome

Castiel stands outside Ann Novak’s house in October. He’s in the backyard, by the fence, and Dean is across the way, under the big tree, raking leaves. 

There are trash bags on the back porch, presumably to gather up the leaves, but Dean is more focused on forming a pile. Castiel watches approvingly. That’s smart. Gather the leaves into one pile, then put them in the trash bag. He wonders how the leaves get put in--will Dean use his hands? Will he use the rake, somehow? Perhaps a shovel?

Dean stands back, eyeing the pile, and nod, satisfied. Then he puts down his rake and goes to the porch steps, but instead of grabbing the trashbags he goes up the steps and disappears inside. Castiel is strangely disappointed. Perhaps he should leave. 

Or he could go inside.

Before Castiel can decide, the door opens and Dean comes back outside, accompanied by a tiny blonde child in a hoodie. Dean holds Claire’s hand as they go down the three steps to get to the yard, and then he releases her as she runs straight for the leaf pile, then jumps inside it, ruining all of Dean’s hard work. Castiel turns to Dean to see his reaction, but the man is just laughing, laughing.

Dean runs and jumps at the pile as well, sending leaves flying everywhere, then gathers Claire into his arms. She puts her little arms around his neck and giggles, her young voice high pitched, and Castiel turns away.

He cannot ask Dean to help him, cannot take him away from the peace he’s gained here. Castiel has already ruined Claire Novak’s life. He cannot take Dean away from her. He cannot take her away from Dean.

Castiel will have to figure out a way to defeat Raphael himself. He folds his wings closer to his back, uncertain, and decides that even if he cannot ask Dean for help, he can stay and watch. 

The back door opens again, and Ann Novak comes outside. 

“Who wants hot chocolate?” she asks, grinning. 

“Hell yeah!” Dean says. 

“Hell yeah!” Claire echos, and Ann tries to frown but Dean is laughing, laughing, and Castiel’s heart hurts.

“Ah, Castiel,” a familiar voice says, and the air sours, reeks of sulfur. Castiel turns. “Angel of Thursday. It’s just not your day, is it?”

“What are you doing here?” Castiel growls, risking a glance back at Dean. It seems Crowley has kept himself invisible to the humans across the yard.

“I want you to help me help ourselves,” Crowley says.

“Speak plain,” Castiel commands. His blade falls into his hand. Crowley stretches out his arms, as if to say he’s unarmed. 

“I want to discuss a simple business transaction,” he says. “That’s all.”

Castiel doesn’t believe him. He’s a demon, and not only a demon but a crossroads demon. Angels don’t have souls, but Castiel still predicts hellhounds in his future. 

He looks at Dean, sitting on the porch steps, hands curled around a mug of hot chocolate, Claire in his lap. He picks a marshmallow from his drink and hands it to her. She eats it and grins up at him. Dean smiles back, tugs her hair from her face. 

Castiel turns back to Crowley, and agrees to hear him out.


	10. season fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i decided to kind of map out where i'm going with this, and so here's an updated chapter count. ideally this will end up 20 chapters, but i didn't have an idea for a chapter 20 and i decided to just wait it out. i'm sure i'll come up with something.
> 
> anyway, here's a tiny lil chapter !

Sammy has a dumbass beard, but Dean is so elated to be back in charge of his own body again that he doesn’t even mind. He steps into the main room of the bunker and blinks, trying to process. For some reason...well. It’s weird to think that time has passed, that things have happened while Dean was...away.

There are people in the war room, people Dean recognizes as the Apocalypse World refugees, and one of them calls Sam  _ chief  _ and Dean doesn’t know about all that. 

He turns to Sam. 

“Yeah,” Sam says, awkward. “A lot’s been going on.”

“Whatever,” Dean says, turning, as Jack walks up to them, grinning. Dean scoops him into a hug, and then over his shoulder he sees Cas walk into the room, then turn around and walk out. 

Dean’s eyes narrow.

“I’m so glad you’re back,” Jack says. Dean smiles at him, pats his shoulder.

“Me too, kid,” he says, and then there’s a familiar shriek. 

One of the first things out of Dean’s mouth after regaining control and realizing he was with Sam and his mom was “Did you take care of my baby?” and Sam asked which one, and Dean said “haha, did you take care of them or not,” and Sam promised that both of Dean’s babies--his kid and his car--were fine. So Dean is halfway across the war room before he can process moving, because his kid shouldn’t be screaming, and then a blonde streak of eleven year old runs into the room and barrels into his arms. 

Dean falls to his knees, holds her close, inhales her strawberry-shampoo scent, and looks past her head to find Cas standing there serenely, hands in his pockets. 

Dean realizes where he’d gone and mouths,  _ thank you.  _

Cas nods at him, a  _ you’re welcome.  _

Dean squeezes his daughter, and she clings to him tighter.


	11. season eleven

This is what happens:

Dean gets stuck in 1943. Cas is being weird. Sam says,  _ lets do something risky to get Dean back.  _ Cas says,  _ no.  _ Sam’s hand itches for holy water, or something, because there’s no way Cas would ever refuse a plan to get Dean safe, no matter how risky. Especially when it’s basically the only plan. 

But Sam doesn’t get out the holy water, and instead he says “I trust you,” in an attempt to activate the brotherly bond he and Cas share. Expressing emotion or faith in each other usually works, Sam thinks. 

Instead of agreeing to use Sam’s soul as a battery, Cas starts laughing. 

“What?” Sam says, confused. 

“Oh, it's just - I don't need you anymore,” Cas says. “I mean, Dean's the one with the link to Amara, why have I been trying to spare you? I mean maybe it's because you're like the girl who kept turning me down at the prom.” 

And then he grabs Sam and shoves him against a support column. His words register, and Sam feels like he may puke, and not because of the bodyslam. 

“What’s going on?” a voice asks, and Sam turns to see Claire standing in the doorway. “Cas, what are you doing?”

“Well, well, well,” Cas says--except it’s not Cas, it can’t be, but the alternative-- “Dean Winchester’s spawn.”

Claire’s eyes widen, and she takes a step back.

“It’s not Cas,” Sam chokes out. “Claire, run.”

Claire turns and Cas flicks his wrist. Claire is thrown against the wall, shrieking. 

“You son of a bitch,” Sam growls. He kicks, but it’s like making contact with a refrigerator. 

“I didn’t know Dean had a kid, you know,” the angel says. “It’s so very  _ interesting. _ ”

“Leave her  _ alone _ ,” Sam says. The angel turns, tilts his head. 

“Why?” he says, and then his eyes--so familiar--turn crafty. “What’ll you give me in return?”

“I’m not gonna say yes, you fucking bastard,” Sam says. 

“Ah,” Lucifer says, smiling, squeezing from where he’s pinning Sam. “You figured it out. You really  _ are  _ the brains of the operation.”

He releases Sam, then telepathically throws him against another wall. Sam notes that Claire used the distraction to escape. He hopes to god she ran into the angel-proof room, but he’s not sure she knows what exactly happened. 

“I should kill you,” Lucifer says, advancing on him. 

“Go ahead,” Sam spits, wiping blood from his mouth, and then he leans back. “Good luck with getting Dean to cooperate with you on that whole  _ killing Amara  _ thing, though.”

Lucifer pauses. Sam sees him doing the math. 

“He doesn’t need to know what happened here,” Lucifer says, raising his hand as if to smite him. 

Lucifer pauses, his arm freezing in place, and he struggles, as if trying to fight his own arm. Sam, familiar with the act of fighting against Lucifer whilst he is using you as a meatsuit, silently roots for Cas. Eventually, Lucifer’s arm relaxes. 

“Fine,” he says. “I won’t kill you. But  _ you _ can’t kill  _ me _ , either.” He turns away from Sam. 

Sam stands, struggling to his feet, and Lucifer continues to gather the ingredients for the spell to pull Dean back. He cradles his arm, hoping it’s not broken. 

“You’re going to regret this,” he says. 

“Regret what? So far I’m having an excellent time,” Lucifer says. “Willing vessel, secret bunker, Winchesters at my mercy--came out of the Cage, and I am doing  _ just fine.”  _

“You tortured me for over a hundred years,” Sam says. Lucifer rolls his eyes. 

“I remember,” he says. 

“You stole Cas’s body,” Sam says. 

“ _ Borrowed _ , and I only took what was freely offered,” Lucifer says. 

“ _And_ you threw Claire against a wall,” Sam says. 

“And?” Lucifer says, looking up and raising an eyebrow. 

“And nothing,” Sam says. “I’m just looking forward to telling Dean  _ all about it.”  _

Lucifer’s face doesn’t pale, but it’s a near thing.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh oh lucifer u fucked up

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! let me know what you think! you can find me at deanspurpleflannel on tumblr.


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